


i didn't even know that i was cold

by gay_writes_with_mac



Series: Prodigal Son [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, Angst, Dani Powell Backstory, Dani Powell Whump, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Mac? Writing Hets? It's More Likely Than You Think, Malcolm Bright Is a Good Friend, Profiling, he's trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_writes_with_mac/pseuds/gay_writes_with_mac
Summary: When Dani breaks rank to visit an old friend (and Malcolm invites himself along), a box of drugs explodes in her face, digging up hidden feelings, old secrets, and a painful past. Or 1x05, told differently.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Series: Prodigal Son [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019443
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	i didn't even know that i was cold

**Author's Note:**

> Cop: tHIS IS THE TROPE POLICE!!! YOU CAN'T USE THAT TROPE AGAIN!!!  
> Me, sticking my characters in cold showers while fully clothed to deal with trauma: IM NOT GOING BACK TO PRISON!!!!

Malcolm Bright is a grown man. He is an adult, a mature adult. He has a degree from Harvard, a record of working with the FBI, and a reputation for being nothing short of a genius.

That doesn’t stop him from shrinking back like a ten-year-old under Gil’s furious gaze. No matter how old he gets, there’s something about that glare that always makes him feel like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. And it’s not that he’s afraid of Gil, because he’s not. It’s not punishment that keeps him thinking about it late into the night, but rather the knowledge that he’s disappointed Gil. All he’s ever tried to do is make him proud. It kills him when he knows he’s let him down.

Dani should technically be facing most of the heat for this; it was her idea to break rank and come here, Malcolm just followed her. But she’s been out of it ever since the shooting started, which he supposes is fair enough. A bullet had grazed her shoulder, exposed by her shimmery off-shoulder top. No real damage, but blood had been drawn in the attack. He’d be quiet too if he knew he’d come that close to getting ripped apart by a Kalashnikov.

“And now Estimé is...where?” Gil flicked his hand around the room, obviously struggling to control himself. Malcolm flinched internally. It was always bad whenever Gil started using the sarcastic voice. He didn’t like the sarcastic voice.

Dani’s hands are picking at the hem of her skirt. For someone so collected, it’s strange to see her fidgeting. Then again, she’s under the same stare as he is from Gil, he can’t blame her.

“And what about you?” Gil rounds on her at last, his arms folded sternly. “I know this was your idea, Bright wouldn’t have known how to find this place. You brought him here.”

But Dani still doesn’t say anything. And that’s what starts to worry him.

Gil seems to notice it too, waving a hand briskly in front of her face. “Dani? Detective Powell?”

Her hands are still picking at her skirt, but she doesn’t say anything. She won’t even meet Gil’s eyes. Gil turns back on Malcolm, but this time, instead of disappointment, his face is all anger. “She didn’t take anything, did she?”

_Gunshots. Screaming. Smoke. People ducking for cover._

_A wooden box, abandoned._

_“There are a_ lot _of drugs in that box.”_

_Splintering wood. The box exploding into a cloud._

_Dani coughing. Choking on it. Surrounded in it._

There’s still a few traces of the stuff in her dark curls. Malcolm winces at the memory. “She, uh...when the shooting started, a box got hit. Estimé’s stash exploded in her face. I heard her coughing...maybe she breathed something in?”

 _“Shit.”_ It’s the first time he’s ever heard Gil swear so callously, so casually, and that only serves to highlight the worry on his face. “I’ll get you her address. Take her home, Bright. Stay with her until she comes down.”

Malcolm freezes at that. He never did drugs in college; like anyone would invite him to any kind of party. This is new territory. Uncharted. Something, at last, about which he knows nearly nothing. “Gil, I don’t know if-”

“If you can’t act like a cop, you can try babysitting.” Gil is already walking away; enough of a mess has been made here for him to sort out. “Get her home, Bright. JT and I have work to go.”

A few moments later, his phone buzzes and Malcolm retrieves it from his pocket. It’s from Gil. The address, as promised. Out of reasons to stall, he approaches Dani slowly; it’s not like her to be quiet, and the last thing he needs is to freak her out when she’s already high as a kite.

“Hey. Dani.” She finally looks up, and there’s a soft smile on her face - a very unDani-like smile. She never shows that many teeth. “You feeling okay?”

“I feel _great._ ” She sounds like she really means it. At least someone’s having a decent night. 

“I’m gonna take you home now. You need to get some rest, it’s late.” _For her anyway._ He reaches out to put a hand on her elbow, more of a guide than anything else, but before he can take hold, Dani links her arm with his, still with that disturbingly happy smile painted across her face.

“At least take me to dinner _first,_ ” she says, and then she does the unthinkable.

Dani Powell starts giggling.

“...right.” Unnerved, Malcolm nods slowly, patting her arm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. “...let’s just get you home, okay?”

Dani’s apartment is six floors up and at the end of the hall. By the time he’s tentatively fumbling in her bag for keys, she’s not only gotten her arm linked with his, her head is resting on his shoulder and she’s snuggled up as close as she can get to him. _Please don’t remember this tomorrow,_ he thinks, his fingers finally closing around a metal key ring. She’d never let herself live it down if she had any memories of hanging onto him like this. 

Her apartment is small - living in a loft, he always forgets just how little space the average person living in New York really has. Even when he flicks the lights on, it’s still dim. She’s got a tiny kitchen and a single couch in front of a TV; no table. No room for one. One door probably leads to a bedroom, the other to a bathroom. And that’s it. His bookshelves wouldn’t fit in this central room.

Dani nudges him suddenly, her hands still wrapped tightly around his upper arm. “We should have a shooting contest!”

“What? Dani, no-”

“Come on!” She pulls away at last, jumping up onto her couch excitedly. He can see her wobbling for balance on the back of the sofa, and he moves to her side quickly, placing a steadying hand on her calf. “You and me, marksmanship contest! We can go back to the precinct and use the range there-”

“...maybe tomorrow. Hey, Dani, you wanna get down from there-”

“Scared you’ll lose?” Dani drops down so that she’s just sitting on the back of the couch instead, rather than standing on it, and Malcolm can finally breathe a little easier. There’s a cocky smirk on her face, one eyebrow raised and the corner of her mouth twitching up.

“I already know I will. You beat _JT_ on handguns by a mile the last time you got into a showdown, I don’t have a prayer.” It was true; Dani was probably the best shot in the precinct when it came to handguns. He’d once seen her shoot a perfect ring around the center of the paper target’s chest, each shot landing exactly on the printed red circle. “You should eat something…? I think…?”

“How am I supposed to eat when I feel like this?” Dani spreads her arms out like a bird, tilting her chin up and letting her eyes flutter shut. The white powder that exploded in her face is still clinging to her curls.

“Like what?” Malcolm prods gently. He takes a curl between his fingers, carefully wiping away the powder still resting on the strands. Her hair is soft, so soft. Green apple shampoo. He can smell it. It’s his job to smell it, to notice all the little things, the tiny pieces of the puzzle that make up people like Dani.

“Like this,” she says simply, tipping her head back even further. “Are we friends, Bright?”

“I don’t know. I think that’s more up to you than it is to me.” On instinct, he reaches out to put a hand between her shoulders, to keep her from tipping backwards and falling over the back of the couch. “I hope we’re friends.”

Dani makes a little humming noise through closed lips, a faint smile making its way back over her face. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

Before he can stop her - even realize what’s happening - her eyes are open again and she leans forward and tilts her head back up and kisses him. _God,_ it’s been a long time since he’s been kissed. There’s no delicacy, no sense of fragility. He wonders if she still remembers who his father is - who _he_ is - because nobody’s ever been this bold with him, ever just leaned forward and kissed him without checking in and making sure and asking the same questions he’s heard a million times about _what it’s like to have your father be a serial killer._

Malcolm’s hand slowly brushes through her soft, green-apple curls, the fingers of his other hand tilting up her chin to bring her closer. Her arms wrap around his neck, and she tugs him closer to her, one of her heeled shoes digging into his back as she hooks a leg around his waist-

No. _No._ This is wrong. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, she can’t. It takes more of his willpower than he wants it to. He’s ashamed of how hard it is to push her away, but he does, gently pushes her back and extricates himself from her grip. “Dani. No. This isn’t right.”

She looks hurt, so genuinely wounded by the rejection, betrayal painted all over her face. “You don’t like me?”

“You don’t know what you’re doing. Normally, you don’t - you don’t want to kiss me. You’re only doing it now because of…” He trails off, because Dani looks like she might actually cry and that’s the last thing he wants to do to her. Or explain to Gil tomorrow. 

“If you still want to kiss me tomorrow, you can. When you’re you again. But for now…” Malcolm points to the couch beneath her. “Try to get some rest if you can.”  
Rather than hop down and walk around, Dani just lets herself tip backwards all the way, falling down onto the padded part of the couch with a soft thump. She’s still wearing her makeup from the party, he realizes. Her heeled shoes. Bracelets. Her shimmery top, her leather skirt. 

Malcolm vaguely remembers hearing Ainsley complain once or twice about sleeping in her makeup by accident. Dani doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere, so he leaves her on the couch and makes his way to the two other doors in her apartment. He guesses the bathroom right on his first try, hovering awkwardly in the doorway as he scans the sink countertop. It’s surprisingly sparse, but everything on the faux marble counter is either mundane and unhelpful - like her toothbrush - or something that he couldn’t guess the function of with a gun to his head. Finally, he spots a plastic package at the back corner of the sink and scoops it up, retreating back to the main room.

“Here you go.” Malcolm puts the pack of makeup wipes into her hand, popping the plastic top for her. “Get your face cleaned up.” He kneels slowly down by her side, gently taking her arm to guide the bracelets off. After a moment, Dani nods slowly, plucking a wipe from the package and starting to remove the shimmery eyeshadow accentuating her eyes.

Carefully, he undoes the tiny buckle on her high-heeled shoes, one at a time, placing them by the side of the couch and stacking her bracelets on the armrest. Dani tosses a small pile of used wipes down to the floor, her face clean. There’s a folded blanket on the other end of the couch, and after a moment, he retrieves that, unfolding it and tossing it over her. 

“You’re not gonna leave...right?” Dani asks softly, hurt still written all over her face as she gazes up at him.

“No.” He shakes his head for emphasis. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning. Promise.”

Dani nods slowly, her eyelids fluttering. He takes that as his cue to back off, retreating to her kitchen to take a seat on one of her counters. She was right. Estimé wasn’t a killer. Those stress reactions didn’t lie. Saulo might have been a killer - of that he was almost certain - but he wasn’t _Desir’s_ killer, no matter what Dani said. Malcolm could spot a liar from Jersey. And Saulo wasn’t lying.

Why was Desir’s chest clean? That was what he kept coming back too. He knew his killer, which was why the bodyguard was killed second - he had let the killer through to Desir without hesitation. But why was his chest clean?

He could have considered it all night. But he’s abruptly jerked from his near-trance when Dani leaps to her feet, her hand flying to her hip for a gun that Malcolm had fortunately had the foresight to take from her in the car. Her eyes are wild, panicked. She staggers backwards, away from the couch - she’s running from something.

“Dani!” He gets to his feet at once, making his way towards her tentatively - gun or no gun, he’s seen Dani take down perps twice her size with her bare hands and he doesn’t particularly want to be on the end of that. She’s soaked in sweat, he realizes, her curls plastered to her forehead and droplets rolling down her face. “Dani, it’s okay, it’s not real-”

Dani scrabbles back another few feet, a frantic, terrified look on her face. Her eyes are shot with fear, webs of red popping out vividly in the whites. 

_Side effects can include anxiety, paranoia, and agitation._ He remembers that much from college. “Dani, it’s okay. Just take a deep breath. It’s not real. Whatever you think is in here, it’s not real.”

He takes another step forward. The next thing he knows is a crashing pain slamming into his jaw, sending bright lights popping like fireworks in front of his eyes, and then blackness slams down over him like a curtain dropping at a theatre and Malcolm knows no more.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Light is streaming in through Dani’s windows when he reluctantly comes to again. His jaw is aching fiercely, a residual pounding in his skull from the blow she dealt him. What he deserved for scaring her, he supposes, dragging himself up into a sitting position.

Something slips off him, and, blinking, he realizes that it’s the blanket he’d tucked over Dani the night before. She must have thrown it over him before going...wherever she is now.

“Dani…?” An inquisitive call earns him nothing, so he tugs himself to his feet - _God,_ she can punch, he should get her to slug him every night if it means sleeping like this - and starts looking for her.

His first guess is the bedroom. A brief knock yields no results, so he gently pushes open the door. Closet door is ajar - no Dani. The covers of the bed are still made - not neatly, but made. He closes her bedroom door quickly. He’s always felt weird going through bedrooms, even ones in victims’ houses; they’re personal. Someone’s most intimate, private space. Malcolm doesn’t like going through that.

As he backs away from the bedroom, though, his ears pick up on something that he hadn’t heard before; running water. Of course she’d want a shower. She’d been soaked in sweat last night, with drugs woven into her hair. 

But the longer he waits for her to emerge, the longer it seems that she’s taking in the shower. And while anyone is entitled to some privacy - especially Dani, depending on how much she remembers of what happened last night - the longer the water runs, the more worried he gets about her. 

It’s only when he knocks directly on the door, calls her by her name, asks if she’s okay, and gets no response, that he reluctantly pushes it open, resolving to himself that if she is indeed really just taking a long shower, he will absolutely not see _anything._

As soon as he steps inside, he sees Dani - she’s still dressed, wearing those same clothes from yesterday, that shimmering off-shoulder top that collars around her neck and that leather skirt that clings to her legs, her dark curls plastered down and stuck to her skin, a dazed, expressionless look of mindless grief drawn across her face. “Dani!” 

He reaches out to her, tentatively - the ache in his jaw reminds him to be careful - and he jerks back in horror when he realizes that the water is _cold._ Practically freezing. This isn’t so much of a shower as a suicide attempt. 

Punching ability forgotten, Malcolm grabs the nearest towel off a towel rack and wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her out of the shower and, dripping, onto the bathmat. He wraps the towel around her shoulders at once; she’s shivering, violently. He shuts the water off and guides her to sit on the closed lid of her toilet, tightening the towel around her. “You stay here. I’m gonna go find you some dry clothes.”

Back in her bedroom, he probes cautiously through the closet, deliberately avoiding unearthing anything personal, and finally retrieves a very Dani-like nondescript gray sweater, a pair of well-worn black sweatpants, and a pair of fluffy socks tucked underneath the sweatpants in what clearly appears to be her ‘comfort’ pile.

Malcolm knocks on the bathroom door quietly, leaving the pile of clothes at the door as he backs away. “Get dried off and changed, okay? I’ll just...be out here…”

She doesn’t respond, but after a moment, the door cracks and the pile of clothes disappears inside. He takes that as agreement to do as asked and backs off, sitting down on her couch and staring very determinedly at a small dent in her wall.

It’s at least ten minutes before Dani emerges, wearing the clothes he brought her, damp hair falling loose in a tangled mess around her face. She stumbles her way over to the couch and finally sinks down onto the last cushion away from him, burying her face in her trembling hands. 

“Dani?” He pokes gently, a hand beginning to inch its way over to her. “Dani, what’s...what’s going on?”

“Profile me and find out.”

“You know I don’t like to do that. Not to my friends. Not to you.”

Dani half-laughs, a bitter, broken sound. “You’ve had me under a magnifying glass since day one, Bright. Had all of us under it. Use it. Tell me what’s going on. I know you’re _dying_ to.”

Profiling isn’t a party trick. That’s what he’s been saying half his life. It’s not a party trick. It’s not for fun. You won’t like what I tell you. But Dani’s right. As specimens go, she’s a fascinating one, and the cynical, cold, profiler side of him - the side that the FBI prized - wants to take her apart piece by piece under that microscope.

“You’re hurting,” he says softly, starting simple. “You’re disappointed in yourself. You don’t come from very much. What you did have was never very kind to you. No one believed you could become a cop, did they?” He’s not expecting an answer and he doesn’t wait for one. “That’s why you did it. Because everyone else was disappointed in you, but you believed in yourself.

“You went into Narcotics. Then undercover. You’re smart. You played it up, though. You _wanted_ to go undercover. You wanted to prove you could do it. You didn’t want anyone to be disappointed in you.” Malcolm pauses, probing, searching, thinking. Picking her apart. “But you couldn’t handle it. You let yourself down. It started, probably...just once? A one-time thing? So Desir’s crew would trust you. Then you thought you were tough. You could take it. You were better undercover than anyone else, because you could be the real thing. You blended in seamlessly. And a part of you that scares you almost liked it.”

Dani’s starting to shake again, but Malcolm doesn’t stop. He can’t stop now. “Then you got in over your head. You OD’ed. Probably almost got fired. Someone...I’m guessing Gil? Saved you. And everyone was disappointed in you again. The cop who got hooked on the same stuff she was trying to get off the streets.

“You got clean. Gil took you on in Homicide. And you’ve been trying to forget about it ever since. But you can’t, can you?” Malcolm takes another pause, another breath, another moment to deconstruct the final piece of Dani’s profile. “And then last night. That box exploded in your face and brought you back. It gave you everything you missed about Desir’s crew. Because you did miss it. Part of you never wanted to leave.”

Malcolm turns to look at her, and instantly feels horrible for what he’s done. She’s curled up in a ball, shaking, staring at him like he’s stabbed her. He might as well have. But he can’t stop. That’s his curse. A trance he can’t break.

“Before everyone was disappointed in you. And now, you’re disappointed in yourself.”

And then tears are welling in Dani’s eyes, and he wants to go back in time and step in front of the shooter at the club to spare her the pain he knew he would cause her if he did what she asked and profiled her. He’s never seen her cry before, but now she _is,_ and he has no idea what to do.

“That was a two-year streak of being clean I broke last night,” she said softly, wiping at her eyes on the sleeves of her soft woolen sweater. “Two years of getting away from living like that. And I hated it. It wasn’t where I was supposed to be, even if everyone thought it _was-_ ” Her voice rises to a crescendo before breaking and she falls silent again, too many tears trickling down her cheeks for her sleeves to catch. 

“But you’re right,” she says finally, in a whisper. “Part of me liked it. Part of me still does.”

“You’re good, Bright,” she adds in that same soft, sad whispers, but then, after another beat, she does the unthinkable. Dani _laughs,_ softly, tearily, despite the fresh rush of tears it sends pouring down her cheeks. “I - I’m sorry for punching you.”

“I slept for five hours. I should have you slug me every night.” Malcolm shakes his head dismissively, lowering his voice as well after a moment. “You were scared. My fault for coming towards you too fast.”

“You can’t blame yourself for me punching you,” Dani insists, but there’s not too much fight in her voice. “I didn’t do anything else too stupid, did I?”

“Ah. About that.” It’s Malcolm’s turn to laugh, albeit nervously. “You, um…”

“Spit it out, Bright.”

“You kissed me,” he confesses, suddenly avoiding all eye contact. “You kissed me, pretty, um... _passionately._ ”

Dani groans out loud, hiding her face in her hands. “Don’t worry, I pushed you off,” Malcolm tags on quickly. “I didn’t let you...do anything. You were, ah...very hurt. I did promise you you could if you still wanted to in the morning…”

Too late, he realizes that sounds more like a come-on than a consolation, but fortunately Dani takes it as neither, but rather as a joke. She laughs tearily, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeves rolled up over her hands. “Don’t push your luck, Bright.”

“So...yeah. There was...that, but otherwise...nothing bad, until the whole...panicked punching me in the face. You were a pleasure to babysit.”

“I don’t feel like getting knocked out by me is in your job description.” Dani sighs, dragging her hands down her tear-stained face. “God, as soon as I tell Gil I’m okay, he’s going to kill me.”

“Are you sure you’re...you know? Okay?” Malcolm pushes gently.

“...no,” Dani admits after a moment, looking over at him through puffy eyes. “Definitely not. But...we’ve got a killer to catch.”

His disapproving frown must be more obvious than he meant for it to be, because she almost rolls her eyes at him. “I’ll tell you if...if this is going to be a problem, okay? I promise.”

“...okay.” It’s not the guarantee he’d like, but then, maybe this is what it’s like to have him as a friend. “Let’s go apologize to Gil before he makes us Edrisa’s next appointment.”


End file.
